The Lights of Tenth Street (30 page)

Linda frowned at the blanket on her bed and sighed. “But I’m nobody. I don’t deserve the help. You know it and I know it, and—uh—Jesus knows it. You heard it all at the hospital.” She flopped forward, burying her face in the blanket. “What I allowed my own daughter to go through because I cared more about saving myself than saving her. I don’t deserve your help. I deserve Seth; I deserve what he gave me.”

“Don’t say that! No one should be treated like that. Look, it’s not whether you deserve the help or not; it’s that God loves you, and He has asked us to love you, too.”

The voice was muffled in the bedclothes. “But I’m not a good enough person.”

“Ah.” Angela felt a smile cross her face. “I see. Well, let me ask you something. When you die, what do you think determines whether you’ll go to heaven?”

Linda sat back up, a confused expression on her face. “Well … just … whether the good things I did outweighed the bad things. And I have done good things, you know. I have. I stayed home with Ronnie all those years instead of working like I wanted to, ’cause I knew it was better for her. Especially with the divorces.” Her face crumpled. “But I guess the divorces count against me, don’t they?”

“Oh, Linda.” Angela reached over and hugged her guest. She felt tears prickling her eyes as she sat back and stared into the childlike gaze. “I have some wonderful news for you. All that you’ve ever thought about how to be accepted by God is wrong. It has nothing to do with whether you’ve done enough good things to out-weigh the bad. No one can earn their way into heaven.”

“But I thought—”

“I know what you thought. It’s a common mistake. We so much want to be in control; we somehow think that if we can be good enough, God owes it to us. But the Bible says that none of us can ever be good enough. Who do you think has been the best, kindest, most giving, most wonderful person in recent years?”

“Uh—Mother Teresa, probably.”

“Well, despite all the amazing, good things she did, not even Mother Teresa was good enough to get into heaven.”

Linda’s eyes grew wide. “You mean she’s not in heaven? Then who on earth can—”

“Oh, I’m sure she’s in heaven. But what Mother Teresa knew was that God accepted her because she accepted His son, Jesus. God sent His only son into the world because God knew that none of us could ever be good enough. So Jesus came to live a perfect life—the only perfect person in history—and then die for us to take the punishment for all the bad things we will ever do. Mother Teresa did the wonderful things she did, caring for some of the poorest, most downtrodden people in the world, because she knew and loved Jesus so much that she couldn’t
not
do those things. Because of what Jesus had done for her, God had saved her from hell, and she was overflowing with His love for the world.”

Linda sat very still, her face confused. “But she deserved to go to heaven, didn’t she? How could God have sent her to … to hell? She was such a good person. It wouldn’t have been fair.”

“I know this is hard to understand, but our idea of fairness and God’s are very different. And it’s not like God is somehow less fair than we are! After all, God subjected Himself to the most unfair thing in the history of the universe; sending His perfect Son to pay the penalty for our sins. That pretty much trumps any of our ideas of fairness, don’t you think?

“And also, He created the universe and trillions of stars with a simple word of His power, and He created every atom in your body. If we could fully grasp God’s mind and ways, we’d be God, wouldn’t we? The Bible says that God is pure holiness—such wonderful, dreadful holiness that it would strike people dead just to catch a glimpse of Him—and since none of us are that perfect, that holy, we have to have someone be a mediator for us. Someone who
is
that perfect, that holy, who can bring us into God’s presence, so we can live with Him forever.”

A wonder was growing in Linda’s eyes. She said the uncomfortable word. “Jesus.”

“Right. Jesus.” Angela again found tears near the surface. “God sent His only Son to earth to be born as a human baby and live among us. He was so perfect, so holy, that the self-righteous religious leaders of the day couldn’t stand it and they killed Him. But Jesus allowed Himself to be brutally killed like that to take the punishment for all the bad things we’ve done. The Bible says ‘the price for sin is death’—eternal death—and Jesus paid that price for us. Then He rose from the dead three days later, showing that He had conquered that sin!”

Angela reached over and took Linda’s hand. “All the awful things you’ve done—even
those I don’t know about—are washed away by Jesus’ death and resurrection. God knows you’ll never be good enough. All you have to do is believe what Jesus did for you, and accept His sacrifice for you, and you’ll be with God forever. Invite Jesus into your heart, and make a commitment to live for Him, and it’ll be as if you were born brand-new into the family of God. You’ll be a new creation—all the old sin and heartache and depravity will be washed away.”

“I want … I want to—”

“Well, let’s do it right here.”

“No.” Linda sat up straight, then jumped off the bed, a strange light in her eyes. “I want to do this at your church. Can we go? Now? Can we?”

Angela hesitated, then stood up. “I don’t see any reason why not. The Wednesday night service starts in half an hour anyway.”

Linda sat ramrod straight all the way to the church. She felt as if she stood poised on the end of the highest diving board on earth, with the deepest unknown waters below.

She sat stock-still through the service, perched on the end of the last pew, hardly hearing the words the pastor said, staring into the deep blue. Could she do it? How could she not? Everything Angela had said had pierced her heart, and she could hear a Voice calling her. Calling her as a father would call to his child, to take the leap into the deep. Calling her to let go of her own life, to trust in the one who made her, who loved her, who had been longing for her for all eternity.

The pastor’s voice grew louder. “Some of you here tonight may not have had an earthly father you could trust, but you can trust the Lord, the perfect, loving Father. He wants you to come forward tonight to accept His love …”

Linda closed her eyes, reeling on the high dive.

Trust Me, beloved
.

She stood up, drawn like a magnet toward the cross at the front of the church, faster, and faster, the deep waters dark and mysterious and beckoning. She sensed Angela standing to follow her, sensed a murmuring from the pews. She didn’t care what they knew about her, didn’t care what they thought. Her eyes were fixed on the cross.

She reached the front and fell to her knees. And she jumped. Words came tumbling out of her, words pleading for forgiveness, words mingled with sobs, great tears that splashed into the deep and were swallowed up in the deepest most profound love. She dropped like a stone … and landed in His strong and loving arms.

She fell to her face. All around her she could feel strong and loving arms. They held her and rocked her and welcomed her into the family of God.

R
onnie circled the club, prowling, looking for her next customer. Some of the other girls were back in the dressing room, gossiping, drinking, and reapplying their makeup, but she—as usual—was on the floor all night. Underneath a glittery red dress, her garter was bulging with bills.

She passed Tiffany and winked. Tiffany pulled her off to the side, her voice low. “How you doing tonight?”

Ronnie pulled her slit skirt aside just enough so Tiffany could see her garter.

Tiffany whistled through her teeth, then flashed a wicked grin and did the same thing, showing off far more cash. She laughed at Ronnie’s expression.

“You may be the newest hot thing, babe, but I’m still the top moneymaker, and don’t you forget it.”

Ronnie narrowed her eyes, her voice deadpan. “Just wait another few weeks and you’ll have to be content with being number two. Eat my dust, Sasha.”

Tiffany gave Ronnie her best mean look, and then both girls broke up in giggles.

The two friends separated, and Ronnie approached a customer who was all alone at a table. She leaned toward him, lowering her voice, putting on a sultry edge.

“You’re here late tonight.”

The man gestured her closer, his movements sloppy. “It’s a special occasion, Macy. Special occasion.” He held up two twenties, waving them in time to the pounding beat of the stage music. “I want a birthday treat.”

“Oh, I think I can accommodate you, baby.”

Ronnie stepped back and listened for a good starting beat, then went into her act. She knew he was probably a workman without a lot of money, but she wanted what he had and she knew all the tricks to get it out of him. It was all about making a man think she wanted him.

She kept up the act and turned her mind from the present when—as with every customer—the unshaven man began staring her up and down from just two feet away. She kept her gaze sultry, her body in motion, and her mind fixed on the two twenties in his hand. But it never quite blocked out the creepy feel of his gaze.

She knew he was probably spending his mortgage or his baby’s milk money on her, and she didn’t care. He was using her to get what he wanted, and it was an even trade.

You okay, boss?”

Doug Turner jerked his head up. His secretary was standing in the doorway, a concerned expression on her face. That expression had been an almost permanent fixture the last few weeks.

“Yeah, sure, Mary. Why?”

“Well … didn’t the COO just leave? You usually have a pile of action items for me when you come out of a closed-door meeting with him or Jordan, but you haven’t given me anything today. Just wondering if there was something I could get started on before I left for the night.”

“Oh. No. Thanks. He was just checking in on something. No action items as a result.”

Mary brightened. “Well, that’s good then, isn’t it?”

No, it’s not
. Doug could feel his pulse starting to race. He gave a halfhearted nod and a smile and shuffled a few papers on his desk.

“Why don’t you knock off, Mary? I think we’re all done for the evening.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I’ve got to get going anyway. Sherry’s having some friends over for dinner.”

“Well, good. Have fun.”

Doug nodded again and turned away.

He drove out of the security gates feeling he had escaped alive from a lion’s den. But the lions—or lion—would still be there tomorrow.

The traffic on the highway stalled his progress home, and before he knew it,
the
exit was upon him, staring at him, an easy turn in the bumper-to-bumper right lane. He merged into a middle lane and drove past the exit ramp, trying to stifle the images that rose unbidden to his mind.

Until late tonight, maybe
 …

Doug forced himself to think about Genna and Brandon, about what their gleeful welcome would be when he came home.

An image.

Don’t think about that
.

Another image.

Stop it. Look at the clock, put on the Christian station
.

Another image.
You could sneak out tonight after Sherry’s in bed. She’d never know
.

Stop it. Sherry
would
know
.

Come on. At least go on that site you found yesterday. You know you want to
.

There was no answer to that. He did want to. Did and didn’t at the same time. He pictured himself sneaking downstairs to his computer and an excited knot formed in his stomach.

If I’m already being blackmailed for it, what’s the point of resisting?

He growled and clutched the steering wheel tighter.

Lord, help me
.

By the time the traffic let up, Doug felt as if his head was ready to explode. He turned off the highway, drove a few miles through the back roads, and pulled into his street.

Eric and Lisa Elliott’s van was already parked in their driveway.

Oh, great. Now I’ll be in trouble with Sherry on top of everything else
.

He parked on the street and strode up the driveway, muttering to himself. At the garage door into the kitchen, he forced a smile onto his face, and turned the handle.

After all the plates had been cleared, the kids ran off to play in the basement, and the wives ventured into the messy kitchen to clean up. Eric beckoned Doug out of the dining room and into Doug’s nearby office.

Doug followed, curious.

Eric pulled the door half-shut behind them, then turned to face his friend. “What’s going on?”

“What do you mean?”

Eric gave Doug a long look. “Something’s eating at you, man. This whole month, you’ve been tense as a two-by-four. You hardly talk at home group anymore, and your prayer requests are always things for the kids or your sick Aunt Martha. Never for you. But whatever’s eating at you isn’t getting better.”

Doug tried to give a casual laugh, waving the concern away. “Oh, it’s just work stuff. You know how it is.”

Eric crossed his arms. “What work stuff? What’s going on?”

“Well, uh … well, I’m just having a problem with one of my bosses. That’s all.”

“What sort of problem?”

“Good grief, man! Are you the Grand Inquisitor now?” He turned on his heel and walked out of the office. “It’s no big deal. I just don’t want to think about it now that I’m home. This is supposed to be a party!”